


The Things We Take For Granted

by Bun (Kymopoleia)



Series: Hold Me Tight, Or Don't [2]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, some other vague cult members, this is a thanksgiving fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Bun
Summary: "To Zeemug."





	The Things We Take For Granted

**Author's Note:**

> nsfw? thanksgiving? two years in a rOW?? WOW  
> max is 19 and daniel is 27.

Daniel surveyed the table, dressed in white, covered in white, the only splashes of color being the turkey and cranberry sauce, the blood-red gravy, the beets and red cabbage and red onions, the delicately arranged rolls of thinly sliced ham and chunks of pineapple.

It was an array of white, yellow, and purple-red, the colors of bruises and blood and everything else.

There were six seats at the long table, two on each side and one at each of the heads. Daniel was at one, and other members of the cult were seated at each one.

Only one face was missing, golden and different, so colorful against the pale backdrop. But that was okay, because he was still present.

Daniel relaxed, shifting so that he could press his hips further into the nineteen-year-old's face, burying his cock further in those bruised lips. Max wasn't an official member of the cult, wasn't inner circle, wouldn't typically be allowed here.

But now?

Daniel bites his lip and sighs, lifting his drink as the boy rolled his tongue on the underside, having trouble keeping his teeth in check around the sensitive member.

"To Zeemug."

The other cultists lifted their glasses silently, then pressed the drink to their faces, letting it spill down their chests.

They were all covered head to toe in thin white cloth. This dinner wasn't for eating, it was for show.

Daniel reached down and pulled Max's face back slightly, then poured his entire wineglass' contents onto his cock.

The boy leans forward, licking and sucking and moaning gently, face burning.

So colorful.

Daniel normally wasn't one to focus on the details, but tonight it felt like the only thing that mattered was the details.

The cloths had to be hung just right, and they all had to be the same shade, and the turkey had to be cooked just so. Nothing could be out of place, and the only person that actually partook in anything was Zeemug-

And the boy lapping hungrily at his cock.

Daniel reached down to card his fingers through those gorgeous curls, now flecked through with champagne, a smile coming to his lips.

He tightened his fingers and pulled Max's face forward.

The surprised moan is loud, with it being doubtless that everyone else heard.

But the one across from Daniel stands to cut a slice off of the turkey, and the others follow suit, and the blonde rolls his hips into Max's bruised lips.

It continues like this for a while, Daniel just enjoying and using the impure boy's face to get himself off, food splattering like blood down the cloths. They'd stain, and then scrubbed clean and cut into small pieces, sent throughout the cult to remind everyone what they fought for.

Purity.

Rapture.

Ascension.

Below the table, Max is wearing a loose white shirt and some thin white pants, no shirt and nothing beneath either pieces of clothing. His hand is braced on Daniel's thigh and he has tears bubbling up in the corners of his eyes, but he was too focused on the task at hand to notice.

Daniel watched as food disappeared, splattering everywhere, making a mess, the men and women beneath the clothes getting more excited and ravenous, teeth gnashing against the threads, the liquids seeping and dripping everywhere.

Soon all of the food is gone, and without warning, a pit forms in Daniel's stomach. He grabs the tablecloth with one hand and bites his other, eyes fluttering shut as he hides a moan.

One by one, every cultist's head turns patiently towards him.

He cums down Max's throat, shaking.

He left his subordinates to their tasks, face uncharacteristically red as he led Max out of the room, down the hallway, towards his room.

The boy is flustered and distressed, teeth worrying his bruised bottom lip and looking at the older man like he expected to be punished.

Daniel leans in close, tipping Max's chin up, and kisses him deeply.

The first reaction is for the tension to melt from the boy's shoulders, then tilt his head and lean in, stepping further into Daniel's space.

He doesn't let the kiss deepen much, because that wasn't the point here.

The blonde pulls back.

Max's lip wobbles.

"You did so well." Daniel whispers, touching his cheek.

Never mind that this wasn't normal cult procedure, never mind that Max should never have been allowed in that room in the first place.

Daniel was soft. For him.

He kissed Max's eyebrow, the boy smiling and leaning into every touch.

"You were so good, your mouth felt like ascension." He purrs.

Max nods slowly, wordlessly.

"You didn't complain or beg for more, though I know you wanted to."

Now time for some embarrassment on the other's part.

"And..." Daniel pushes a few curls out of Max's face, a smile on his own.

"You're mine."

He leads Max towards the bed, slowly and carefully stripping the both of them, leaving their clothing on the floor. His own thighs are still slightly sticky from the wine and how it'd splashed, but he pushed his lover onto the bed gently, focusing on him.

It's easy to slide under the covers and close their eyes, to let Daniel pull him close and rub his cold hands all over Max's body.

He hadn't touched any food other than the wine, and his stomach will complain later, but for now there's just him and the pretty boy his attention is locked onto.

Max hooks a leg around his thigh, moaning softly.

Daniel pulls back.

"What do you want?"

The boy presses his face to the blonde's chest, breathing hard.

He runs his fingers over Max's shoulder.

"Come on."

Words are hard, especially when one has put so much work into listening.

Max's lips move against his skin, and he feels the barest scrape of teeth.

His mouth quirks in a smile.

"I want... you." Max whispers.

Daniel kisses Max's forehead.

"Silly," He moves the thick curls out of the way, "You already have me."

They stay like that for a long time, holding each other and sharing gentle kisses and breathing softly, Max relaxing against him and him pulling the teen closer and closer to himself, feeling their heartbeats slowly sync up, their breathing slowing to match.

"You're mine." He kisses Max's forehead, the boy having already gently slipped off to the land of dreams.

He didn't mind. Even if he didn't particularly dream often, he could still watch his lover go there.

And, of course, brush his fingers through the other's hair, keeping him close, close, close.


End file.
